Hallways
by Bluenose
Summary: NIH must deal with the outbreak of a mysterious disease at an appartment building, where not everything goes exactly as it should. Title provided by Richmond Fontaine. COMPLETE!
1. Default Chapter

**Hallways, Part One**

"Morning, Mr Patterson."

Joseph Patterson nodded at the young couple who held the door of the apartment block open for him. He walked past them, wrapped up against the cool weather, leaning on his stick, breathing heavily after his morning walk. He'd lived in the building a long time, first with his wife, Claire, then alone, after she'd died, God rest her soul. His son and grandchildren still came to visit him. He spoiled them rotten, but better they got his money now, when he could see them enjoy it, than after he was gone.

He'd seen a lot of changes, seen a lot of neighbours come and go, seen a lot of old friends move on, replaced by younger people, younger families.

He walked on through the hallways, returning greetings from the other residents. Everyone knew Mr Patterson, still fit and able, despite his age. Still capable of walking the route he had always walked with his dear departed Claire.

If anyone thought that Mr Patterson looked a little more flushed than was normal, thought his breathing was a little more laboured than normal, they paid it no mind. 'It's just the weather' they told themselves. 'Its November, after all. He's an old man, he's going to have to slow down at some stage.'

Joseph Patterson reached his door, fumbled briefly with his keys and walked into his apartment. He had almost reached his favourite armchair when a sudden fit of coughing racked through his body, wet and tearing. Still coughing, he sank into his chair.

"You're getting old, Joseph."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, carefully embroidered with C+J, and wiped his lips. He didn't notice how the cloth came away, stained with blood.

An hour later, Joseph Patterson died in his favourite armchair, clutching his embroidered handkerchief, clotted with his own blood.

Free at last to join his beloved Claire.

"Why didn't Mommy pick me up from school?" Patricia Ashton covered her mouth and coughed politely into it.

"Good girl." Michael put his arm around his daughter. "Mommy isn't feeling too well, sweetie." He tapped her lightly on the nose with a finger. "She's in bed." He pushed the door of the building open. "Afternoon Gerry."

"Mr Ashton."

"Come on sweetie." He led her towards their apartment, wiping sweat from his forehead. When had it got so hot in here? He dodged around a workman and his ladder, wrinkling his nose against the smell of paint. Fighting the urge to sneeze.

Patricia coughed again, a longer hacking noise.

Michael smiled at her as he opened their door. "You go and get ready for bed, Patricia. I'll go and check on Mommy."

"Okay Daddy." Patricia disappeared inside her room.

Still smiling, Michael pushed open their bedroom door. "Are you still asleep hon.." His words died in his throat, strangled before he could utter them.

His wife lay dead in their bed, the sheets stained with the blood she had coughed up.

He pushed the door shut, knowing that Patricia didn't need to see her mother like this. He slid to his knees, tears falling like drops of blood.

Joseph Patterson and Katie Ashton were not the only ones to get sick. They found Mr Patterson's body in the late afternoon, when Gerry, the doorman, kicked in his door.

By then, another man had died, coughing in the front hallway of the building, coughing until his blood had splattered on the walls of the apartment building. Three more people were in bed, coughing, running temperatures and shivering under the blankets. At least one of those had started coughing up blood.

Tiny scarlet drops, staining the sheets like the signature on a death warrant.

All through the silent, frightened apartment building, the sound of coughing echoed like sobs.

"Come." Stephen looked up as Eva knocked on his door. "What is it Eva?"

"I think we got a problem. I just got a call from a GP in Newark. He thinks he has an outbreak." She handed him the data pad. "At least two people have died already."

He read through it quickly. "Have you called Natalie yet?"

"She's already here. So are Frank and Miles."

"Good. Tell them to get packed up. We're going to Newark. Now."


	2. Chapter Two

**Hallways Part Two**

"Have all the victims lived in the same apartment building?"

"So far, yes."

"Well that makes things a little easier anyway!"

"How?" Stephen glanced up as Eva paced around the table, talking quietly, intensely on her cell phone.

"Well…" Miles glanced around the table. "If they've all gotten sick inside the building, then the source of infection must be inside the building."

"Not necessarily." Natalie flicked through the details they had. "The infection could have been brought into the building by one of the patients. It could be from outside."

Frank stretched, trying to ease the pains of cramped seats. "Never mind that it could be anything inside the building. Water, paint, heating, food. Anything."

Eva snapped her phone closed and sat down at the table. "Jersey Police has a perimeter set up around the building. They're keeping everything quiet at the minute, but it's only a matter of time before the story gets out."

"Then you have to keep things quiet. Give us space to work." Stephen looked around the table. "What do you think, Natalie?"

"I wont know for sure until I do a full autopsy." She hesitated briefly. "But the initial symptoms sound like a respiratory or pulmonary infection." She grinned, briefly, viciously. "A really fucking nasty one."

Stephen nodded. "Which means it's airborne. Full masks and suits for everyone, until we figure out what the hell we're up against." He glared at Miles, his pale eyes intent. "That means any quarantine has to be enforced. Understand?"

"Perfectly, Dr Connor."

"Good. Is everyone that is symptomatic still in the building?"

Eva nodded. "They don't want to move anybody in case it spreads the infection. Nobody has got in or out since the GP noticed the symptoms. I've phoned the local hospitals and so far nobody's came in with the same symptoms."

"So we still have a chance to get on top of this thing." Stephen scratched his jaw, just starting to show the first hints of pale stubble. "Frank, I want samples from the deceased's rooms, as well as those that have shown the symptoms. Find me a commonality."

Powell nodded. He had known what Connor would want him to do, but this, this pre battle ritual seemed to relax Connor, seemed to help him focus on the job in hand.

He'd found that it relaxed him as well.

"Run what you have through Natalie."

She had known that this was coming as well. "Where do you want me, Stephen?"

"East Orange General Hospital." He glanced briefly at the computer generated map, reassuring himself of the decision he had made. "It's the closest hospital. Find out what's causing this."

She nodded, relieved that she wasn't going to be **there**, dealing with the infected face to face. She knew where her gifts lay, in a lab, finding answers to a problem.

"What about me, Dr Connor?"

"I want you in triage, Miles. Talk to the patients. Find out if they had anything in common, any interests outside of the building. If they ate at the same restaurant, played squash at the same club"

"Okay."

"Eva, see if you can access the building records, see what maintenance has been done recently Look into the firms that did the work, their suppliers, anything you can think of, the housing records, complaints. Anything you can think of." He smiled, briefly, knowing how she worked. "You know what to do."

She smiled back at him. "Already on it."

The pilots voice broke across the room., telling them to prepare for landing at Liberty Airport.

Telling them to prepare themselves.


	3. Chapter Three

**Hallways Part Three**

"Detective Murphy? Dr Stephen Connor, NIH." Connor extended a hand for the detective to shake. He stared at the building, looming like a tombstone. "Has anybody…."

The detective shook her head. She leant against the barrier, clutching a coffee cup. "No one's gone in or out since the lockdown was put in place."

"Good. Keep it like that. Only my team are to have access."

"Understood Doctor."

He gave her another quick glance, then walked back over to the car. "Natalie, get over to East Orange General. We'll get those bodies to you as soon as we can. Find out what's causing this. Frank, Miles, get suited up."

"Any other questions?"

One by one, they all shook their heads. He hadn't expected any. They all knew how to do their jobs.

"Lets get to work."

"Mr Paulson? My name is Eva Rossi. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Ms Rossi." He shook her hand briefly. "Please have a seat. Can I offer you a drink? How can I help you?" He sat down facing her, his eyes lingering on her.

"Do you own an apartment building in Central Avenue?" Conscious of his eyes on her, she brushed her hair behind her ear, crossing her legs.

He frowned briefly. "Yes. 95 Central Avenue." He leaned back in his chair. "Nice building, prominent location, reasonably priced." He smiled at her. "It would make a lovely home for a girl like you."

"Have you had any maintenance work done to it recently?" She smiled. "You know what these old buildings are like!"

"I do. Don't worry, Ms Rossi. I have the building maintained regularly. In fact, I am in the process of completing this year's overhaul."

"Do you know who did the work?"

He frowned, leaning forward, resting his arms on the desk. "What's this about Ms Rossi?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Mr Paulson." She leaned forward, seeing him mirror her movements. She lowered her voice. "There have been complaints."

"Against me?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. Against a number of building maintenance firms, accusing them of using substandard materials, working practices, things like that. We're investigating all firms that have had major contracts in the last six months."

"And you want the name of the company I use? To see if they're implicated in this investigation?"

"If that's possible, Mr Paulson, yes."

The hallways of the apartment building were silent. Filled with the smell of fear, blood and death. Nothing broke the stillness, the silence settling across the whole building like a shroud.

Three men stood at the front of the building, talking in soft voices. They fell silent, when the doors opened, shutting behind the NIH personnel like the doors of a tomb.

Connor worked the microphone on his suit. "We're with the NIH. Which on of you is Dr Richardson?"

A small man, dark haired, bearded, wearing a sweat pants and a university jumper, stepped forward. "I am." He tried a weak smile, heavy rings scouring the skin underneath his eyes. "God, I'm glad to see you guys?"

"What's going on?" A second man, dressed in a shirt, open at the collar, rubbed at his mouth as he spoke. He stared at his hand for a second, as if he expected to see blood on his skin.

"We don't know yet, but we will find out. Has anybody else become symptomatic yet, Dr Richardson?"

"Not as far as I know." Richardson rubbed his eyes. "Gerry and I have tried to keep everybody in their apartments since we found out about this. I don't know how much longer we can, though."

"Were did you put the deceased?"

"I quarantined them in the basement." Richardson shrugged. "I figured I've already got it if I'm going to get it. Whatever the fuck it is."


	4. Chapter Four

**Hallways Part Four**

"What have you got for me Nat?" Stephen's voice sounded strange, echoing, distorted inside his suit.

"Well, not much at the minute. All the victims were killed by the same infection, so at least we're not looking at multiple infection sources. It attacks the lungs and respiratory system."

"How long do we have?"

"Anything up to a dozen hours to the victim becomes symptomatic. Then another five to seven until death." She hesitated, reluctant to ask. "Have there been any more cases?"

"Not so far." Stephen sounded exhausted. "Richardson did a good job in isolating anybody that had been symptomatic."

"Well, it's defiantly airborne, so we can rule out food or water. I think it's something in that building."

"Thanks Natalie." Stephen broke the connection with her. Leaning against the wall. Taking a moment, just to think through the problem. He pressed another button. "Frank, where are you?"

There was a moments silence, worryingly filled with static.

"In Mr Patterson's apartment. Checking through his medicine cupboard and his fridge."

"No. Forget that. Natalie's finished the autopsy. It's airborne, and it's not specific to any one apartment. It's in the whole damn building."

"So where do you want me?"

"According to Eva, the owner's just had a new heating system fitted and the whole building repainted. That must be the source."

He heard Frank moving as he laboured himself to his feet. "I'll get on it."

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay, Dr McCabe." Patricia stared at her father, trying not to look at Miles as he took more of her blood, flinching in brief pain as the needle pierced her vein. Michael tightened his arm around her , watching as the crimson liquid seeped from her into the small glass vial.

"Well, you're being very brave, sweetheart." Miles took the needle away, pressing his gloved fingers against the small wound on the girls arm. "Just keep your hand against this. Good girl."

He closed the top on the vial and put it in the carry case. He stood slowly, stiffly. He was exhausted, drained, already.

And he knew things were only going to get worse.

"Dr McCabe." Michael Ashton stopped him at the door. "How does it look?"

"We wont know for sure until we get her blood analyzed, but at the minute, she's doing okay."

Michael glanced at the door of his daughters room. "She's a fighter okay. Takes that after her mother."

Miles tried to smile, putting a gloved, impersonal hand on the man's shoulder. "The next few hours are critical, but if she gets through that…" He let the words trail off, not wanting to give the man any false hope.

Michael wiped away a traitorous tear. "Thank you Dr McCabe."

"Patrick Washington. Fancy meeting you here."

Patrick grinned, his teeth bright and sharp. "Eva Rossi. I was wondering when you were going to show up"

"What made you think we were going to show up at all?" She reversed direction, trying to keep him off balance.

He closed the distance between them easily. "There's a Jersey apartment block under quarantine, NIH personnel entering it in containment suits…Come on Eva, tell me what's going on."

"There's nothing going on."

"Bullshit." He stepped a little closer to her, his aftershave filling her nostrils. "We've known each other for a long time, Eva."

"You know I cant tell you anything, Patrick."

"So there is something to tell?"

She smiled. "No comment." She turned again and started to walk off.

"Would it help if I bought you a drink?"

"Just one drink Patrick? Come on, you can do better than that!" She laughed as she walked away, putting an extra sway in her hips, knowing his eyes were on her.

He phoned her before she reached her car.

"What if I bought you dinner as well?"

"Dr McCabe! Dr McCabe! Wait!"

Miles stopped, his hand, holding the carry case, stretching out towards the paramedics. "What's wrong?"

Michael came running towards him, his face pale with fear and panic. "It's Patricia. She's started coughing up blood."


	5. Chapter Five

Hey, thank you to everybody that has read and reviewed so far. Hope you're all still enjoying the story.

**Hallways, Part Five**

"Stephen, we have a problem."

"Now what?"

"Patrick Washington is snooping around the story."

"Shit." Stephen leaned against the wall, his face flushed, the hallway too hot, too stuffy for him to breath, even with his suit on. He hated these suits, they blunted his touch, deadened his senses. "Can you keep him away from this?"

"I can handle Patrick, Stephen. Don't worry about that. It's just case of how much its going to cost me."

"Dr Connor!"

Stephen looked around as Miles called to him from the doorway of the Ashton's apartment, his face white beneath his mask. "Do what you have to do Eva. I have to go." He broke the connection abruptly. "What is it Miles?"

"Its Patricia, she's displaying secondary symptoms."

"Show me."

Patricia Ashton lay in her bed, covered by a blanket, lovingly embroidered with cartoon characters. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and as they watched in horrid fascination, a wracking cough tore through her small body. She tried to stifle it with her hand, her frame shaking with the force of the attack. She lay back on her bed after it passed, her hand lying on the outside of the sheet, her palm freckled with blood.

"Please…" Michael's voice trailed off as he fought to hold back his tears.

His desperation forced Connor into action. "Give her some amantidine and type match her some CD4."

Miles hurried to obey his instructions. "Will that work against this?"

"Probably not. But it might buy us some time. And it'll make it a little easier for her to breathe." 

Miles stared at the little girl lying pale faced on her bed, tensing every time she took a breath. Scared that this would be the one that triggered another attack.

"Shit, these things are heavy."

Frank grunted with the effort, lifting off the casing of an air conditioning unit, propping it against the nearest wall. He wiped his mask, knowing it was a useless, pointless gesture, knowing it was the closest he was going to get to his forehead for a long time. He opened his case, staring at the equipment inside.

This was all that was left to test.

The answer had to be here.

No the answer was here. He just had to find it.

Had to find it before that little girl died, before her father died, before…

He pushed his thoughts away. Working quickly, not allowing himself to think, putting the last of the samples into the container, closing the lid. He sat back on his haunches, looking around the basement. Wondering what else there was, what else could be causing this. He'd even checked the water supply, despite what Connor had said. He had known Connor to be wrong in the past.

Just not very often.

He took a last look around. Shaking his head in frustration, Frank Powell walked out of the basement.

The air conditioning hummed away, content and oblivious as he closed the door after him.

There had to be something.

Natalie adjusted the settings on the microscope, peering at the new samples Miles had sent over.

She looked at the name on the sample. "Patricia Ashton, aged nine. Poor girl." She adjusted the settings again and the sample swam suddenly into focus. 

There had to be something. Something that could tell them why these people were getting sick, why these people were…

Wait.

"That cant be right."

She lifted a small vial, carefully applying a few drops to the sample. Then examined it again through the microscope. Torn between hoping that she had made a mistake and praying she was right.

No. She was right.

She lifted her phone, dialling quickly.

He answered on the second ring. "Connor."

"Stephen, its Natalie. We've been looking in the wrong place. Whatever's been making these people sick, it's not occurring naturally."

"What are you saying Natalie?"

He sounded distracted. She felt a momentary flash of guilt. Until they figured this thing out, him, Miles, Frank, they were all at risk of infection. She was safe, hiding in a lab, far from the front line. Far from the danger.

Just for a second, for that momentary flash, she hated herself.

"Natalie? Come on, I need you."

She shook herself, brushing away her emotions, locking them away. "I found traces of a non organic compound in Patricia Ashton's sample. Somebody poisoned these people, Stephen. Somebody did this deliberately."


	6. Chapter Six

**Hallways Part Six**

"Frank! I need you to check the air conditioning units for the building."

"I just finished doing that. Sent the samples across to Natalie."

"Do it again, and look for artificial toxic substances."

"You think someone poisoned the air conditioners?" Frank's voice trailed off, as he thought about Patricia Ashton, about the people that had already died. "Jesus. What does she think it is? Cordillia?"

Stephen shrugged, suddenly weary. "That's what I'm afraid of. If it is cordillia, then there's…."

Frank cut him off. "Then we'd better pray that it's not." He forced weary, aching muscles to work, and lifted his samples case. "I'll go check the air conditioning units again."

"Thanks Frank."

Frank forced himself to smile. "That's what you pay me for."

"I want to be a doctor when I grow up." Patricia's voice was raw, her throat hoarse from coughing.

"Do you sweet heart?" Miles forced himself to smile. "I'd bet you'd be a real good one as well." He attached the drip to her vein and stood up. "There. All done." 

Patricia smiled up at him, all her innocent faith in him, her life in his hands.

His smile froze on his face.

Numbly he walked from her room. He could feel her faith chasing after him, haunting him.

The face plate of his suit misted up. The walls of the building, the walls of this sick fucking building, closing in around him, swallowing him, burying him. He couldn't see, couldn't breath.

Clawed at the join of his suit with desperate fingers, tearing the helmet off.

Sudden cool air rushed across him, cooling his fevered skin.

Closing his eyes, breathing deeply, Miles sank against the wall.

Wondering how long he could hide in the hallway. Wondering how long it would be before he had to go back and face the faith in that little girl's eyes.

He stood up as she approached the table. "Eva, you look as beautiful as ever."

Despite herself, she smiled at his words, her hand rising to push her hair behind her ear. "And you Patrick, have turned into a shameless flatterer."

"Part of the job description, Eva. You know that." He pulled the chair out for her, the way he always had, then walked back to his own seat.

The waiter appeared at their table. "Would madam like a glass of wine?"

She nodded and watched him pour the wine into a delicate glass. She looked up, catching his eyes on her, dark and hungry. She felt herself drawn in. Drowning.

She heard him whisper. "What happened?"

This had been easy, oh so easy, when she had talked to Connor. But now, here with him…

This was so fucking difficult.

Eva shook her head. Forcing her voice to be strong, confidant. "You know I cant tell you that."

He didn't look away from her. "You know that's not what I meant."

Her breath, her confidence disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. She could barely manage a whisper. "I know."

Patrick leaned across the table, still holding her with his eyes.

And then his arms were around her, pulling her close to him, like he always had, kissing her.

An anchor to a drowning woman.

"I need more samples Stephen."

"Who?"

"Everybody."

"What?"

"I need to check something." She ran her hands across her face, trying to stave off her exhaustion. She paced across the small lab, her neck and shoulders aching. "I…I think I've made a fuck up somewhere."

"Natalie." His voice, commanding, reassuring. "I've known you a long time and I've never seen you make a fuck up."

"I must have, the results don't make any sense."

"Tell me."

"I tested the samples you sent across." She swallowed hard, bracing herself for his anger at her, his disappointment with her. "If they're accurate, Stephen, they all have it. They've all been infected."


	7. Chapter Seven

Hey, thanks to everybody that has read and reviewed so far.

Song lyrics in this chapter are taken from the song Volcano by Damien Rice.

**Hallways Part Seven**

"But that's impossible. Otherwise I would have an apartment building full of dead people."

"That's just it, Stephen, it's at different levels in each of them. I don't understand it."

"Are their bodies producing antibodies?" His mind already racing. Find the person with the most resistance, sample the blood, stimulate the production of the antibodies. And, for the love of God, don't let the person get sick.

Natalie shattered that hope at birth. "Not that you'd notice, some of the levels are so low I almost missed them. It's proving resistance to whatever I've thrown at it as well." She shook her head, sitting down at the microscope, resting her forehead in the palm of her hand. "How can they be showing such different levels?"

Suddenly, the picture became clearer to Connor. "What if they've been exposed to it, here in the building, but it's responding to some other factor?"

"Like what?"

He thought for a second. "Like temperature. Could that effect it's spread, and it's speed?"

"There are some viruses that respond to temperature. I'll test it against temperature extremes, see if that makes any difference."

"Get back to me when you can, Natalie. Find me an antidote to this thing."

Eva settled back in Patrick's embrace, his fingers tracing patterns on her bare shoulder. Just for that second, for that instant, she allowed herself to feel…not loved. Loved was totally the wrong word. Wanted.

She tried to block out thoughts, images of Connor, Frank, Miles. She had told Connor that she would handle Patrick Washington. Well, she was handling him.

"You know I'm going to get this story eventually."

Eva felt professionalism slide between them like a wall, a shield crashing between them. "I know. Just hold back on it Patrick."

"How long?"

She allowed herself a smile. She'd won against him. Again. She tried to tell herself that it was worth the price to her heart. "Just a couple of days. I'll make sure you get an exclusive when it's all over."

"Okay, Eva. I'll give you two days."

"Thanks Patrick." Trying not to think about how cheap she felt. Hoping she had bought Connor enough time.

"What I am to you is not real

What I am to you you do not need

What I am to you is not what you mean to me

You give me miles and miles of mountains

And I'll ask for the sea"

"Doctor…"

Miles jerked as if scalded, looking around. "Mr Ashton." Dimly he realised that he still had his helmet under his arm and he hastily put it on. He hated it, hated how claustrophobic it made him feel. "Has something happened with Patricia?"

Michael shook his head, holding his hand out towards Miles. As he did, his body rumbled, trembling as a coughing fit rushed through him.

His palm was red with his own blood.

"Shit. We'd better get you into isolation." Miles took Michael by the arm, leading him back into his apartment. He contacted Connor. "Dr Connor, I have another confirmed case."

"Who?"

"Michael Ashton. Patricia's father."

"Shit."

Her phone rang as she was walked to her car. "Rossi."

"Eva, its Stephen. Did you speak with Washington."

"I spoke to him. He's going to hold fire for a couple of days."

"Good. That gives us a couple of days to get on top of this thing." He hesitated for a second. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, gentle. Almost a caress. "Was his price high?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, holding in her tears. "No more than I expected."

"Good." His voice resumed its normal, commanding tone. "Thanks Eva"

Connor broke the connection. She took another minute, keeping her eyes closed. Promising herself that when she opened them, she would be Eva Rossi again.

Miles McCabe walked through the hallways of the apartment building, checking with patients, spending a few minutes with each one. Trying to ease their mental anguish, as well as their physical suffering.

If he felt a little tickle at the back of his throat, a little tightness in his chest, he didn't think about it.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Hallways Part Eight**

A crowd of reporters had gathered around the apartment building. Pressing in around her car, microphones and cameras thrusting into her face as she got out of the car, her NIH pass predominately displayed.

"…medical emergency…"

"Can you confirm…"

"Rumours of fatalities…."

"Violations of the building code…"

The cacophony of questions washing over her like a dam bursting, surrounding her, a pack of hungry dogs, demanding her attention. He opened his mouth to ask another question. "Ms Rossi…"

Eva smiled, focusing her attention on the reporter who had known her name. "There is no medical emergency."

"Why have NIH personnel closed this building off?"

She made a calming gesture with her hands. "It's merely a precaution." She raised her hands and her voice over the sudden shouted questions. "I'm sorry, I cant give out any more details until the situation is resolved. Thank you gentlemen." She turned and walked away, imagining them scrambling for phones and print copies.

She smiled bitterly to herself.

If only they were all that easy to mislead.

Natalie adjusted the focus on the microscope, focusing in on the samples. She added a few drops of the antibody onto the slide, making a careful meticulous note on her clip board.

She turned her chair, studying the temperature tests. Nodding to herself in satisfaction.

They had been right. It did respond to temperature.

Now all they needed was a way to stop the damn thing spreading. She turned back to the microscope, massaging the back of her neck.

She'd never seen anything like this before, and it was proving to be a stubborn bastard. She shook her head in frustration, making a mark against the latest antibody cocktail she had tried.

Another dead end.

She needed to find a vaccine quickly.

Before somebody else died.

He needed answers. Quickly. Before somebody else died.

"How are you feeling, Mr Ashton."

"Like shit." Michael Ashton coughed harshly into his hand. "How's my daughter doing?" He'd insisted that they treat him in his living room, so he could hear Patricia if she called.

"We're doing everything we can for her."

The sound of coughing echoed, seeming to spiral around the entire building, dying slowly away.

Connor flinched. He'd grown to hate that sound, but he was dreading the silence even more.

He needed answers.

Connor walked to the door of the apartment, glancing at the air conditioning unit, still and silent. He'd ordered them all switched off, after Natalie had confirmed that it was airborne. No sense in inviting trouble in.

He stepped out into the hallway….and the air conditioning sparked to life. Humming audibly in the silence.

"Powell?"

"Yeah?" Frank's voice was strained.

"I thought I got to switch the air conditioning off."

"I did."

Michael Ashton coughed behind him, trying to attract his attention. "There's two systems in the building." He coughed again, a sick cough this time. "Building owner put a second system in to keep the hallway at a constant temperature."

"Two air conditioning systems?"

"Yeah?"

"Powell, find that secondary system."

"On it."

Miles took a second, a moment to himself to rest. Sitting on the stairs, linking the hallways of the second and third floors. At least he had been able to avoid the Ashtons. Dr Connor had taken over that case as soon as Michael had displayed secondary symptoms.

Not that he was short of patients.

He shifted on the steps.

Trying to ignore the cough he felt rumbling, growing in his chest.


	9. Chapter Nine

Hey,

Thanks to everybody that has read and reviewed so far.

I thought I had fixed the formatting problem, but obviously I haven't. Thanks to Poet for pointing it out to me.

By the way, this is the penultimate part….

**Hallways Part 9**

"Son of a bitch had this buried real good."

"Guess it didn't fit in with his aesthetic plan for the building." Powell grunted with effort, moving boxes and other obstacles from the front of the air conditioning unit. It was older, dirtier than the newer model he had tested earlier. He cursed himself for missing it.

Connor nodded, although Powell doubted that his words had had much impact. Connor was lost in his own world, piecing through the problem. "They put the poison in this system, because they knew it would always be running. Systematically poisoning all the residents."

"So why don't we have more people showing symptoms?"

Connor smiled, edged like a knife. "Pure luck. It's more aggressive at higher temperatures."

"Well, here we go." Powell hit a switch, watching as the blades slowed to a halt. He unscrewed the covering, lifting it down, running a tool across the blades. His eyes widened and he held up the tool, coated in a fine white powder.

Connor's face fell, his eyes closing. "Shit." He opened up a connection. "Natalie. We found the source. It looks like cordillia."

xxxXXXxxx

He was tired of fighting, tired of resisting. His legs refusing to obey his commands, stumbling from one infected room to another, his brain lagging a step behind him, Patricia Ashton's faith haunting him like a ghost, following after him.

He could feel it working on him, spreading its infected talons through him, clawing at his lungs and throat.

Miles gave up.

The cough that had been brewing ripped through him, cutting and tearing.

He watched in horror as his visor dimmed, washed with crimson, speckles of his own blood clouding his vision.

xxxXXXxxx

He could hear his daughter coughing. Delirious. Crying got her mommy, crying for her daddy.

And Michael Ashton couldn't even stand, couldn't go to her to comfort her.

He could feel it inside him, spreading, attacking. Michael coughed again, trying to stifle it behind his hand. He didn't want Patricia to know her daddy was sick as well.

It swelled within him, pulsing, bursting out of him. He could hear Patricia coughing, the sound echoing his own.

And he couldn't do anything to help her.

He couldn't do anything to comfort her as she coughed out her last breath, choking on her own blood.

xxxXXXxxx

"What if it's cordillia?"

Eva could hear the shrug in Connor's voice even if she couldn't see it. "If it's cordillia, then there's nothing we can do, other than contain it. Every infected person in this building is going to die. All we can do is try to contain it. You'll have to control the story. Make sure that he knows what he can and can't publish."

"I know what to do, Stephen." She hoped he hadn't heard her emotions in her voice at the thought of dealing with Patrick Washington.

Did he think of her? After she had left his room?

What did he think of her?

She ran her hand through her hair, brushing it away from her face. "The perimeters secure. Only our people have crossed the lines." She hesitated for a second, not sure she wanted her question answered, not after he had told her. "How much time?"

He didn't reply for a second. His answer, when it came was brutal and honest, his voice forcibly stripped of emotion.

"Hours."

xxxXXXxxx

Faster.

She had to work faster.

It was easier now that she had a source to work with. Easier to try and find something that might stop the fucking thing.

Especially now that Miles…

Faster.

She had to work faster.

She turned back to her microscope, frowning in concentration. "What the?" She punched open the line. "Stephen, it's not cordillia. At least not the strain they used in LA. It's weaker, not as aggressive."

God help them if they had used THAT strain.

"I can beat this thing, Stephen."

"Get me a vaccine, Natalie. Quickly."


	10. Chapter Ten

This is the last part. Thank you so much to everybody that has reviewed so far, you've made checking my emails extra fun. I hope you've enjoyed the story so far, and I hope you enjoy the last part.

**Hallways Part Ten**

"I feel like such an idiot."

"Believe me, kid, you are such an idiot." Frank smiled at Miles, trying to take the sting out of his words, trying to keep his spirits up. "What made you breach the seal on your suit?"

"I don't know." Miles lay back on the couch, his skin pale, scattered with sweat, his frame quivering with the effort of restraining another coughing attack. "I just saw that little girl's face, how much she trusted me." He signalled for a drink and Frank held the glass over him, clumsy in his gloved hands. Miles gulped the water down, cool against his ravaged throat. "How is she doing?"

"She died Miles. About an hour and a half ago." Frank shook his head, remembering how distraught Michael Ashton had been, listening to his daughter die. "I'm sorry."

Miles squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears of frustration, of anger brimming behind his closed eyelids. He hadn't been able to save her. All of this suffering, all she had been through and she'd still died.

Why did it have to be her?

"She wanted to be a doctor."

"Did she?"

"Yeah." Mile's opened his eyes. He'd grieve later. "What do we do now?"

"Wait for Natalie." Frank sighed heavily. "Pray."

The doors slid shut behind her.

Just for a second, she stood in the main hallway of the apartment building. Looking wildly around her, the view plate misting up with her increasing panicked breathing.

She hated this, hated the smell, the taste of sickness and death that hung over this place. It was easy for her to forget, working in a sterile lab, what the price of her failures was. She could almost taste the blood through her suit. She wanted to run, hide.

"Natalie?"

A wave of relief rushed across her. She had been so afraid that she would come into this building and find all the residents, all of her friends dead.

That she had would have been too late.

"Did you…."

She nodded, holding up the sterilized case holding the serum. "I brought as much as I could. The labtechs at the hospital are producing more. There should be enough within a few hours."

Should be. They could hear the words hanging between them. Should be.

"We'd better get started."

"Okay. Where have you put Miles?"

Stephen shook his head. "We do Miles last."

"What?" Natalie shook her head, feeling a few strands of her hair slip loose from their bindings, brush past her cheek. "No, Stephen he's…"

"He was infected last, he can afford to wait. His immune system is still strong, I examined him myself. There are people here who have been infected longer. We treat them first." He met her gaze brutally, not allowing himself the luxury of doubt or guilt. "Any questions?"

"None."

"Then lets get to work."

_Two days later_

She was waiting for him in the diner.

Her hair loose about her face, falling across her cheek. He stood behind her for a second, just smelling her perfume, longing to run his fingers through her hair, caress her cheek. He wondered how she would react if he….

Wondering if things could ever be different between them. Wondering if things could ever be simple between them.

But then, nothing with this woman was ever simple.

"Hello Patrick. I ordered you coffee."

"Hello Eva." He sat down at the other side of the table, trying to keep his voice calm, even. He lifted the cup to his lips, hoping she didn't notice that his hands were shaking.

She pushed a document file across the table to him. "That's your story."

"Where are my exclusives?"

Eva shrugged. "Unfortunately, the doctors involved are not available to be interviewed. They were called somewhere else. There are transcripts and full statements in that. I've authenticated them myself. There are also statements from the NYPD Detectives involved in the arrest." She fell silent as he flicked through the document. Trying not to think about how close Miles had come to dying. "Thanks for working with us on this one. I owe you."

"Anytime." He took another mouthful of coffee, set the cup down and stood up. "Be seeing you, Eva."

He didn't wait for her to speak, walking towards the door.

"Yeah." Her voice was soft, as soft as a breaking heart. "Seeya around Patrick."

**The End.**


End file.
